


Movie Night

by Amelia_Clark



Series: Good Books, Bad Movies [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Banter banter banter, Brooklyn nostalgia, Date Night, Holding Hands, I just love writing these folks so much, Kansas craft beer, M/M, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Rimming, Schmoop, Top!Cas, and I met my husband at a screening of it, angst rears its ugly head, book talk, bottom!Dean, friendship!, inexperienced giggly dom/sub, my entire outline for chapter 2 was "office blowjob", parting is such sweet sorrow, this movie exists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-07-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 16:28:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1751153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amelia_Clark/pseuds/Amelia_Clark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas has been staying with Dean for a week, and while they have sometimes stayed dressed long enough to go out to dinner, tonight feels like their first real date: a bad movie at Dean's bookstore and drinks after with his staff. Well, and some shenanigans in between.</p><p>(Fourth in a series starting with <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1073126/chapters/2154116">Good Books, Bad Movies.</a>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Kevin cleared his throat, glanced at his notes, and held forth with varsity debate volume and poise: "Hey, everybody, welcome to another edition of our film series, Cult Movies Without Cults. Most of the time, these movies highlight the work of, shall we say, lesser-known practitioners of the cinematic arts. Which makes this month a special treat: tonight we present the 1982 TV movie _Mazes & Monsters,_ featuring the star talent of the man sometimes called 'the modern Jimmy Stewart.' Yes, everybody, in his first starring role, it's two-time Academy Award winner Tom Hanks!" Someone broke into applause, and the small crowd of regulars took it up; Kevin paused till the clapping faded, tapping index cards on one wrist.

"It's the timeless tale of a group of college students who play Dungeons and—I'm sorry, "Mazes and Monsters," totally different tabletop RPG, legally distinct for all purposes—and of course, because of its evil and stuff, are inevitably sucked into self-harm, delusions, and yes, even that most deviant of all activities, LARPing." He grinned at Charlie, who spent a few weekends a year in a local park in boots and doublet, yelling “Lightning bolt!” at people wearing orc ears; she stuck out her tongue. "The movie's based on a novel by Rona Jaffe, author of staff favorite _The Best of Everything_." (Sotto voce cheer from Anna, womanning the register.) "That's enough background, I think. Charlie, you wanna get here and go over drinking game rules?"

"Naturally!" She bounced out of her front-row seat, paper in hand, and started reading off a list of prompts: "OK! Listen up, cats and kittens. First, every time JayJay wears a new stupid hat, take a drink..."

After the lights went down and the first stupid hat appeared (a spiked German helmet), Dean nudged Cas's knee with his own, offered him some bourbon from his hip flask—a best-man gift from Sammy, engraved with his initials. They were sitting in the back row; actually, they _were_ the back row, sharing space on the couch where they'd first kissed. Yeah, it had turned a few customers' heads when Castiel Novak walked in with him (wearing Dean’s _Fahrenheit 451_ shirt, holding his hand), and yeah, Dean was hiding a little. It shouldn't be nerve-wracking to be out in public with him, really. It wasn't even the first time, since they'd put their clothes on and had dinner out more evenings than not over the past week. But something about being here, in his store, watching a terrible movie with the people he thought of as his tribe? Gut butterflies all over again, and the back row seemed the better part of valor at the moment.

Cas didn't seem to mind, though, sipping the whiskey delicately and returning the flask to between Dean's thighs; he rested his hand on the one closest to him. Dean laid his own hand over it, stroking the line of a tendon with his fingertips, and Cas flexed beneath his touch, hooked their index fingers together gently. Sneaking a look out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Cas was half-turned towards him, smiling fondly. His heart lurched, for the thousandth time that day.

He'd stopped correcting Charlie when she referred to Cas as his boyfriend (which she did often, and with gusto: "it's so nice to see you all permanent-afterglow!"), and had moved on to correcting himself when he mentally slipped into the wrong preposition; he was falling _for_ Cas, not falling _in_ anything, this was an important distinction to make. Because never mind that it was too soon to be this infatuated—eighteen days, he kept reminding myself, you met the dude _eighteen days ago_ —it was downright delusional to let himself feel anything more profound. To feel like he stood on the edge of a precipice, that if he stepped off he might fly instead of shatter. So he wouldn’t, simple as that. Always time later on if it lasted.

In the meantime, it was perfectly acceptable to enjoy himself, enjoy Cas. And the sex. Definitely enjoying the sex, and the cuddling, and the waking up turned towards each other, like flowers to the sun.

Dammit, he was doing it again. Calm and collected, he thought. Observe your emotions but don't engage, Vulcan-style. He turned his hand palm up to lace all his fingers between Cas's and gave him an affectionate squeeze. Glanced one more time and turned his attention to this glorious trainwreck of a movie.

They held hands for half an hour, hardly moving—every now and then a moment of tightened grip while they laughed, or a thumb stroked softly over a knuckle. Then Cas extricated himself, working the stiffness out of his joints, and moved to put his arm around Dean, who tensed, just a little, as his hand came to rest over his bicep.

Cas leaned in to whisper in his ear, and Dean could hear the smile in his voice. "Relax. It's only my arm, Dean, very family-friendly and proper. I'm not going to blow you in a room full of people." He laughed, low in his throat. "I'm going to blow you in your office after the movie's over. If that's acceptable."

Dean swallowed. "Yeah, of course it is," he said. "Although usually we all go out for drinks after, Charlie and Anna and Kevin and me. This comfy pub called the Boulevard, hipster-free with pinball. Was hoping you'd come hang out."

"Yes!" said Cas. "Yes, I'd enjoy that very much. But I'd also enjoy blowing you in your office, so why don't we do that first and then catch up?" Dean nodded so fast he made himself dizzy for a second. Cas laughed, dropped a chaste kiss on Dean's earlobe, and went back to watching a multiple Oscar winner emote wildly at an ill-lit puppet.


	2. Chapter 2

Cas idled on the couch post-movie, wishing Dean and his staff would let him help with closing. He'd folded a few chairs, but Charlie had clucked her tongue and shooed him back: "You're a guest, silly. Guests don't work, it's a rule!" So apparently he was supposed to just watch everybody else work—Anna vacuuming in the stacks, Kevin breaking down the A/V equipment, Dean counting down the till—with nothing to think about but what he planned to do to Dean once the others had gone on to the bar. Not that that wasn't diverting, but he tried to keep the public hard-ons to a minimum, for his dignity's sake.

Christ, Dean got under his skin. Cas craved him constantly, his desire a slow simmer through every nerve ending. He'd had him six ways from Sunday by now, but it wasn't enough: Dean kept putting up walls as fast as he could tear them down, and their clash of bodies was so maddeningly close to what he wanted, and so far at the same time. Moments like this, where Dean was concentrating on something else and he could simply watch him, the shadow of his eyelashes on his cheeks, his broad hands deft as he riffled a stack of bills, Cas’s treacherous storytelling brain couldn’t help but spin out shared futures. Merged bookshelves. Lazy rainy afternoons spent reading in bed half-dressed, complicated shower sex derailed by mutual laughter. Maybe they could get a cat—or wait, Dean was allergic. A puppy? A guinea pig?

It was a relief when Charlie and Anna, duties done, flopped onto the couch on either side of him; the former slung an arm around his shoulders with that matter-of-fact gregariousness that seemed to define her. "You're coming out with us, Castiel, that's so rad!" she chirped. "Ready to go?"

"Uh, actually, we'll be along in a minute," Dean said, boosting himself up to sit on the counter (a foot to the left of where he'd pushed Cas's hips up against the wood and swallowed his cock the night they met). "I've got something to take care of."

Charlie's eyes narrowed, Kevin's eyes rolled, and Anna smirked: "Yeah, I'll just _bet_ you do," sniped the latter with a sigh. "Suppose it's better than having to watch you two eye-fuck all night."

"Like they won't do that anyway," said Charlie. "Coupla smitten kittens. Just don't profane my home away from home too much, OK?" Guilt must have flashed in Cas's eyes for a second, because she leaned back and glared at him. "You have already, haven't you? Done it in the store. Oh my God, where? Please say not on the couch?" She stood up quickly—so did Anna. _“Not on the READING TO CHILDREN COUCH?!?"_

"Not...not very much," said Dean. Charlie was thoroughly un-mollified, shooting him a look that could wither crops.

Kevin broke the awkwardness: "I think we're all agreed it never happened. And is never going to happen again, right, guys? And also, Dean, you owe us a round of drinks." Dean nodded, contrite; Cas just looked at his hands. "Come on, let's head to the Boulevard, let the pervs catch up after they do absolutely nothing whatsoever." Charlie sighed—or rather, she actually said “sigh”—and grabbed her tote bag.

Dean waved awkwardly to his employees as they departed, turning to Cas with a cringing half-smile. "Well, I won't be looking them in the eye for a while. Am I the worst boss ever?"

Cas shrugged."They'll give you shit for a while, but they'll get over it. The way you all interact is amazing, Dean--you're more like family than co-workers. I've never had friends like that, I don't think."

"Book people, man. The best people." Dean's smile widened as Cas joined him behind the counter, crowding him up against it with a hand on each hipbone. "Gonna follow through on your promise, right?"

"Of course." Cas leaned in for a kiss that turned to a nibble at Dean's bottom lip; he slid his mouth across Dean's jaw to speak into his ear. "Can't wait to suck your cock, Dean," he growled, fingers pressing hard into his skin. “Listen to your voice when I make you come.”

Dean giggled. "How do you do that, Cas?" he asked.

Cas pulled back and frowned. "Do what?"

"Turn it on so fast, the—I don't know, you're so shy most of the time, and then you just...take control."

"I suppose? I don't do it on purpose. I don’t think there’s some deep underlying psychological motivation, it’s how I am, in bed. Or, not in bed, but sexually. Do you not like it?"

"Oh, fuck no, I love it," said Dean, grabbing at Cas's shirt to pull him closer. "I've gotta be in charge so much of the time, I like just letting go and being pushed around for a while. It's hot."

"Good," said Cas. "So go into your office and sit down at your desk."

"Yes, sir," said Dean with a smirk, and Cas laughed out loud.

"That's not necessary," he said as he followed Dean into the office and shut the door. "I might tie you up some time, though, if you're amenable."

Dean collapsed into his desk chair with a groan. "Yes, oh my _God_ yes."

Cas bent down and kissed him, one hand tugging at his hair, one burrowing under his shirt to skim across the flat plane of his stomach. Dean moaned into his mouth, tangling their tongues together and spinning the chair so its back was braced against the desk. Moving from his awkward half-crouch to kneel at Dean's feet, Cas slowly ran his palms up Dean's thighs, hooking his index fingers through the belt loops of his jeans. He sat back on his haunches to look up at him; Dean was staring down with undisguised hunger, sumptuous mouth parted as his breathing quickened.

"God, you're beautiful," Cas said. Dean bit his lip and shifted his eyes away from Cas's, and Cas realized he was biting back a protest. He smiled; he'd prefer it if Dean could take a compliment without objecting, but not saying it out loud was a start.

And it was a victory worthy of being rewarded. Pushing Dean's shirt up past his ribs, Cas leaned in to kiss the soft part of his belly, tongue lingering on the sensitive flesh just below his navel. Dean sighed and rested his hands on Cas's head, fingers fluttering through his hair as Cas tugged his fly open and nosed at his cock where it curved to meet him.

"Lift up," he murmured, and Dean complied, letting Cas pull his pants and boxers to his ankles and retrace a path along bare skin, up and up to graze against the ridge of his cock. Dean gasped as he made the same motion with his tongue; Cas hummed in satisfaction as he slid his mouth over the head and sucked.

“Oh,” said Dean, voice weak with pleasure, “oh, that’s good.”

Cas soon reduced him to moans and whimpers, worked his cock with mouth and hands until Dean was thrusting up into him helplessly and clutching at the collar of his shirt. When Cas reached behind his balls to press his thumb against his asshole, Dean came with a choked cry; Cas swallowed down the now-familiar taste and pulled off with a smack.

He grinned up at Dean, who was struggling to catch his breath. “Good?”

“Yeah, it wasn’t bad,” said Dean with an answering smile. “Uhm, I think there’re Altoids in my top drawer, if you wanna freshen up before we head out.”

“Thanks,” said Cas, and without meaning to say it, “thank you for everything.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like character-driven dialogue, this is the chapter for you!!
> 
> The next one's just fucking, don't worry.

The Boulevard could have been a neighborhood pub anywhere in the country, and that's what Dean loved about it. Dark wood, mirrored bar, pool table in the back, even a little patio for nicer days than late-November ones. When he and Cas arrived, his staff had staked out a booth; Charlie was nibbling fried jalapeno slices while Anna nursed a whiskey sour and Kevin sipped from a can of PBR. "Hey," Dean said with a sheepish smile as he and Cas crowded into the booth across from them.

"Hey yourself, boss man," said Charlie. "Gosh, you look so _relaxed."_

"And Cas—can I call you that?—how delightfully minty fresh you smell," added Anna with a slight grimace.

Kevin cut off any further snark: "OK, seriously, that's all you get. We know they fuck, making fun of them for it's not cool, ladies."

"Thanks," Cas said quietly. "I know we're a little...over-eager. It's all been very sudden, and we don't have a lot of time together. Oh, and yes, Anna, Cas is fine."

Charlie's face softened. "I'm sorry, dude, you're right. Couldn't resist. But Kevin's right, I'll knock it off."

"Thanks, guys. I still owe you a round, though," said Dean, flagging down a waitress to order a basket of fries and replenish everyone's drinks. "They've got Free State beer here," he told Cas. "Brewed in my hometown! Wanna try some?"

Cas assented, and was soon sampling a Stormchaser IPA. "Good stuff, right?" Dean said proudly, and Cas nodded.

There was a lull filled only by the faint sound of Sisters of Mercy on the PA (the owner had a goth thing); everyone was suddenly aware that Cas was a relative stranger, and a famous one at that. "Soooo," Charlie said, breaking the silence as was her wont, "any interesting scars?"

"What?" said Cas, taken aback.

"Sorry, it's my ice-breaking line."

"That's true," said Dean. "It's the first thing she asked during her interview when it was her turn to talk."

"It's a good one, I suppose. And I do have a few."

"Like the one on your ribs?" Dean asked. "I've wondered about it a little, I admit."

"Uh, that one's got a story."

"Excellent!" crowed Charlie, stealing a fry. "Do tell, sir."

"Well, I was, uh. I got stabbed."

"Wait, like with a knife?" said Anna, stunned. "Like someone actually stabbed you in the chest? That's crazy."

"Were you mugged?" asked Kevin.

"No. It was actually a girlfriend. Well, an ex. A just-became-an-ex."

Dean couldn't help reaching out to where he knew the scar ran across Cas's torso. "You broke up with her and she fucking _stabbed_ you?"

"She didn't hurt me, really. It was a chef's knife, glanced off a rib. I bled a lot, but it didn't reach any organs—my ribcage did its job, essentially. But it was obviously traumatic."

"Good story, though," said Anna. "What happened to her? Is she in jail?"

"Oh, no. April was—is—she's mentally ill. It was—I blame her, I do, but also I don't? She almost turned into a different person, like she wasn't in control. She was inpatient at a psych ward for a while, but as far as I know she's out and OK. I haven't exactly kept in touch."

"I would think not," said Anna. 

"Yeah, that seems prudent," added Charlie. "So. My usual next question is 'got any tattoos?' but that's asked and answered. They're gorgeous, by the way."

"Thank you," said Cas. "What about you? Any ink?"

"Uh," said Charlie, and blushed. "Not my best decision, but yeah. It's slave-bikini Princess Leia straddling a 20-sided die."

"Wow, that's...unique."

"I was drunk, it was Comic-Con! Catnip to nerd ladies, at least."

"Anna? Kevin?" 

Kevin shook his head. "Just this one," said Anna, flashing her left wrist: _hwæt,_ it read in strong serif. "First word of—"

"Beowulf! That's amazing. I think I've actually got that somewhere myself."

"Really? I'll have to go looking for it later," said Dean mischievously, and Charlie rolled her eyes.

"Guyyyyys, if we're gonna lay off with the sex jokes, you gotta meet us halfway."

"Fair enough," said Dean. "Hey, are you liking _The Goldfinch?_ Are you close to being done?" Charlie had snapped up the store’s advance reading copy of Donna Tartt's latest, and they were all waiting for her to finish and pass it around. (Sure, they could buy it, but one of the ironies of working in a small bookstore was that it was pretty hard to afford books.)

"It's not _The Secret History,_ but nothing is, so yeah, I love it! Wish she'd write novels quicker, though. She's like the literary George R. R. Martin."

The conversation was now on steady ground for all of them, ice shattered to pieces, and Dean sat sipping his beer, jumping in now and then, resting his hand over Cas's on the table. He was delighted by how comfortable the latter seemed, how easy it was for Cas to fit in with his friends, his chosen family, and he thought as he had so many times before: _book people are my favorite people._

*******

Two and a half drinks later, Dean caught up to Cas as he came out of the mens’ room and steered him into a dim corner. "Hey you," he said, bringing their faces scant inches apart.

"Hello, Dean," said Cas, and closed the gap to kiss him. Dean opened his mouth immediately, and they toed the line of "appropriate for public view," hands staying in neutral territory (though clutching at clothes till their knuckles paled) while their mouths stretched around each other's.

Dean was panting when he pulled away. "God, ten years ago I'd’ve blown you in the bathroom, babe."

"The tragedies of middle age," said Cas with a smirk. "We can make a discreet exit, if you'd like. I admit I've been thinking about bending you over and fucking you hard all night."

The noise Dean made at that suggestion was almost a mew. "Yeah, me too. Finish this round and go?"

The booksellers showed admirable restraint when they announced their departure—no comments re insatiability, no smirks, nary a raised eyebrow. Instead, Charlie got up and flung her arms around Cas unexpectedly: “Mr. Novak,” she said with the air of a royal proclamation, “you are officially forgiven for being a white male on the bestseller list.”

Which, as long as he’d known her, was the most magnanimous thing Dean had heard her say to anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Boulevard was a few blocks from my apartment in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, right by the BQE. Wonderful and welcoming, one of the only places I miss in NYC.
> 
> And has anyone read _The Goldfinch_? I was a classics major (more or less), so _The Secret History_ was my jam, but I have yet to pick up the former.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean had remembered its being six blocks' walk to his apartment from the bar, but it was closer to ten, and Cas had forgotten his gloves, so their clasped hands were stuffed into Cas's coat pocket, bouncing gently on his thigh as they walked. "They like you," said Dean after a moment.

"I like them," said Cas. “I like you.” Dean shot him a shy smile. The street was cold and quiet at midnight; this wasn't a state for pedestrians, and halfway there Dean pushed him against the dark glass door of a chocolatiers' to kiss him again, slipping his leg between Cas's and bearing up until his cock stirred.

“God, you get hard for me so easy,” Dean purred, licking his neck.

Cas slid his hand into the warm hollow of Dean’s crotch. “Pot, kettle.”

Dean laughed around the earlobe in his mouth and pressed his half-hard cock into Cas's hand. "Fair enough. Dammit, I shoulda skipped that last beer so I could drive us home. I want you naked now."

"Well, it's below freezing, so I shan't oblige," said Cas, and shoved a cold hand up his shirt. Dean squeaked and stepped away.

"Not fair," he said. "Let's keep moving."

"I'm not the one who stopped."

"Yeah, but you're the one who's so fucking hot all the time."

"Me? Have you _seen_ yourself?" How on earth, Cas thought, could someone as fucking gorgeous as Dean not know it? It kept him from arrogance, perhaps—he’d met enough good-looking men and women who used it to manipulate those around them. But Dean’s lack of confidence made him want to weep, now that he knew that it was Dean’s own mind working against him, inescapable, that he could only fight it, never defeat it. He tilted his head, struck by an idea. "Your bathroom sink, it's got a mirror over it, right? It's about hip high?"

"Yeah."

"This is what we're going to do tonight, Dean: you're going to hold onto that sink while I take you from behind, and you're going to watch yourself in that mirror. I want to finally make you see how beautiful you are."

Dean drew a shaky breath, nodded, and took off down the sidewalk double-time. Cas smiled and hustled to catch up.

*******

They somehow managed to keep their hands off each other till they made it to Dean's apartment, and then Dean shucked his coat immediately and pressed Cas up against a wall, the light switch poking into his back while Dean stripped him bare from the waist up. "Stop it," said Cas suddenly, and Dean stopped.

"Can we—tonight, can I tell you what to do? I don't know much about BDSM as a lifestyle. But I know you like it when I take control, and so do I...so can we do that?" Cas was looking at his feet; despite defaulting to dominance, it felt strange to ask for it out loud.

Dean cleared his throat. "As in, I don't do anything without permission? Like, you tell me to come and I have to come right then?"

"Exactly. I think it'll be fun."

"Fuck yeah it will. I'm totally fine with it, Cas. I trust you." Dean tilted Cas's chin up to lay a chaste kiss on his mouth. "Uh, do we need a safe word? I don't know how to do this either."

Cas considered. "If you want? We can keep the regular meaning of words. If you say 'no' or 'stop,' I'm going to stop. I don't plan to cause you pain in any way. I simply want to order you around, and for my orders to be obeyed without question."

Dean let out a little whimper. "Okay. Just in case, though? I'll just have one. Like"—he looked around the tiny flat for inspiration—"uh, 'lamp.' If I start feeling weird about things and I can't get 'no' out, I'll say that."

"Deal." They actually shook on it.

"Well?" Dean stepped back. "Turning it over to you, dude."

Cas tilted his head again, like a cat examining a new toy. There he was, this obliviously beautiful creature, his to command, and Dean’s willingness to submit was more intoxicating than the three beers he’d had at the bar. "Go in the bathroom," he said finally, lowering his voice further so it rumbled like faraway thunder, "and take off all your clothes. Brace your hands on the sink and wait for me."

"Done and done," said Dean. "Can I pee first, though? Beers went straight through me."

"Yes, you may."

Cas gave him ten minutes to disrobe, doffing his own pants and tossing them over the back of the easy chair. He idled over the bookshelves, head bent almost perpendicular as he read the spines; warm contentment spread in his stomach as he noted how many titles he recognized from his own library. Why hadn't he been dating booksellers all along?

"Ready?" he called through the door when the wait became unbearable.

"Yeah, come in," Dean called back, and the door let out a loud creak as Cas flung it open.

Dean had obeyed him to the letter; clothes in a heap on the floor, he stood naked in front of the sink, hands clenched on its sides. He didn't look away from the mirror as Cas entered, dropping lube and a condom at his feet. “Hi,” he said as their eyes met in the reflection.

“Hi,” Cas said, deliberately moving his gaze down Dean’s body, knowing the other man could see it. “You did very well. I think you deserve a reward for your patience.”

At this, Dean stifled a laugh. “Shit, sorry, I just—somehow making this official, like, dom/sub stuff, I feel a little silly.”

“Me too,” said Cas with a sudden grin. “It’s fine. Try not to crack up, OK? It’s a role, it’s a game. It’s just me.” He wrapped his arms around Dean’s chest and leaned forward to rest his face against his. “It’s just us.”

Dean’s eyes closed for a second, as if he was rebooting, and when he opened them again, they blazed with heat. “OK. You said something about a reward?”

“Good boy,” said Cas, biting his lip to keep from smiling. He kissed Dean’s cheek before dropping to his knees behind him. “Spread your cheeks for me.” Straightening his stance a little, Dean complied. “That’s good. You’re so good,” Cas continued, pressing the pad of his thumb at his flushed entrance. “Are your eyes open?”

“Yes,” said Dean shakily, pushing back into his touch. Cas swatted his ass, and was unable to hold back a giggle at Dean’s yelp.

“Don’t move unless I tell you to, Dean,” he said sternly. “Keep your eyes open. I want you to watch yourself while I take you apart. Can you do that for me?” Dean squeaked out an assent. “Good, you’re so good. You’re perfect.” He licked across his hole, sloppy and slow, then pointed his tongue to circle the rim.

“Fuck,” Dean whimpered; Cas could feel his thighs shaking with the effort to hold still. Probably he should ask _do you like that?_ before continuing, but he wanted to get this show on the road, because he wanted to be deep inside Dean _yesterday._ So he set to with a vengeance, licking and sucking while Dean moaned above him, reaching between his legs to where his cock strained hard against the porcelain. He pulled away to slick one hand with lube, leaned in to slide a finger, two, into Dean’s tight heat. He worked him open over what felt like hours, bit and kissed at the flesh of his thighs. Finally, finally, he stood, tugged his boxers down, rolled on the condom, and buried himself to the hilt in one swift thrust.

“Oh my God, Cas,” Dean whispered, as his eyes fluttered shut.

“Open your eyes or you’ll be punished,” Cas growled, pulling out halfway and slamming back in. Dean was a sight to behold in the glass, flushed red and panting, and Cas pulled him close, molding their spines together and hooking his chin over one shoulder. “Look at you,” he said low in his ear. “Look how beautiful you are.”

“I can’t,” Dean pleaded, “come on, just fuck me, please.”

“No,” said Cas, stilling his movement. “You can move, but you have to watch or you can’t come.”

“I can’t—I’m gonna come anyway—come _on,_ Cas.”

 _“No,”_ he said. “Unless you’re going to use the safe word, you have to watch, and you have to come when I say and not before. You’re beautiful, Dean, and I’m going to make you acknowledge it if it kills me.” Dean sighed, but he opened his eyes again, and Cas resumed his rhythm, steady and forceful. “Oh, Dean, that’s so good. You’re being so very good for me. Now say my name.”

“Cas,” Dean said in a small voice.

“Say my _whole_ name.”

“Cas—Castiel. _Castiel,_ that feels so good, fuck me harder, Castiel.”

“Now say you’re beautiful. Say it to yourself in the mirror.”

After a pause, Dean choked out, “I’m beautiful.”

“Say you’re good.”

“I’m good.”

“Say you deserve love, and then you can come.”

“I—fuck, that’s so corny, _oh God, please don’t stop_ —I deserve love,” Dean said, green eyes fixed on their reflected image, and came so hard Cas had to catch him as he slumped forward onto the sink. 

Cas followed helpless in his wake.


	5. Chapter 5

Spent, they'd tumbled into bed still kissing; the last thing Dean remembered before sleep overtook him was Cas's mouth at his ear whispering, "You deserve this, Dean, you deserve this.” In his half-conscious state he let himself connect this to his declaration in the mirror, and he drifted off dreaming of love.

When he woke, Cas was already propped up on one elbow looking down at him, one hand stroking his chest like he was smoothing clay. Dean pulled him close to kiss his morning-stale mouth. 

The kiss grew heated as Cas sucked at Dean's full lower lip and worried it with his teeth. Dean spread his legs around Cas's hips, and soon he was groaning in appreciation while Cas slid slow fingers into him—after a week sharing a bed (a bed! he still awoke surprised), they'd stashed supplies under an extra pillow, unwilling to leave off touching long enough to rummage for lube. When Cas entered him, thrusting at a lazy, rolling pace, Dean tangled shaking hands in his hair and mouthed helplessly at his jaw, sobbing out his pleasure. They only broke eye contact to blink, and when Dean arched his back with a gasp to spill over Cas's stomach, he felt like he was drowning, swept away by the ocean he'd never seen.

“You know,” he said after Cas collapsed face down next to him. “I don’t think I’ve had this much sex with the same person in years?”

"Likewise," said Cas a little breathlessly. “And it’s been longer than that before I tried anything new. You liked it, right?”

“Hell yeah I did. Any time, I’m game. And Cas, the—the things you made me say, thank you. I needed to hear that.”

“Mmm, you’re welcome. I wish I could fuck the self-loathing right out of you.”

“You do for a while. You do, just being here.” He reached out to trail a hand up the ridged column of his spine.

Cas sighed and turned towards him. "Which means this is the worst timing ever, but...Dean, I need to go home for a while."

A thing happened in Dean's stomach rather like being stabbed with a hot knife. He kept his voice level with supreme force of will: "Oh yeah? Just gotta get away from the constant awesome sex? I can see that."

"No, no, no. Dean, look at me." Cas sat up, gazing down at him with renewed intensity. "It's not because I _want_ to, for God's sake. It's professional. I can't write here, I need to be back in my own space."

"Oh. That's,” Dean’s brain churned furiously, and for once logic prevailed, “OK, that sucks, but I can believe that. You have, like, a routine and a process and all that, I can see that being hard to transfer."

"Precisely. I would if I could, I hope you know that." Cas punctuated his words with a very convincing kiss.

"Because of the constant awesome sex?" Dean said with a grin when he pulled away.

"Yes, because of the constant awesome sex," said Cas with an answering smile. "It's just that I've got a spot in an anthology—queer sci-fi, I’m their Big Name—and the deadline's looming, and I've tried to write here while you're at work but it's just not happening."

"You haven't written _anything?"_

"Honestly, that'd be easier. I've written too much. I've got three stories, and they're all over 20,000 words, and I need one that tops out at 15. I'm hoping being back at home will let me edit down."

Dean raised his head to snatch a kiss, then dropped back to the pillow with a heavy sigh. "Shit, I'm going to miss you."

"Well, I can't leave yet, I'm covered in come," said Cas with a grin.

Dean laughed out loud. "Time for one of your trademark handsy showers, huh?"

"Absolutely."

Washed and fed, Dean sat morose on the bed watching Cas pack, gathering scattered black clothes from the floor and the couch and the kitchen counter—Dean found a pair of boxers wadded on a bookshelf and tossed them to Cas, who fumbled the catch. All he could think was _don’tleavedon’tleavedon’tleave._

Cas zipped his duffle and slung it on his shoulder, walked over to the bed to stand with his knees knocking against Dean’s. There was a look of such loss on his face, like his dog had been hit by a car, and paradoxical joy simmered under Dean’s skin, that leaving _him_ could ever cause someone pain. "You could come with me?" asked Cas, hopeful. “We could have sex in every room in my house. It has more than one! And I have a bathtub, and a backyard. I could fuck you in the sunshine. God fucking dammit all to fucking hell, Dean, I don’t want to not be with you.”

Dean flopped back on the mattress with a groan. _"Fuuuuuck,_ I _can't,_ it's stupid shitty goddamn timing, Cas. It's late November, we're heading into the month where we're just slammed constantly. I _have_ to be there, we all do. I usually end up putting in, like, fourteen-hour days until Christmas. In fact, if you were gonna be around to gift-wrap part-time, I’d hire you on the spot."

Cas looked crestfallen, but nodded. "Not even next week? It’s Thanksgiving. Or, wait, are you seeing your brother?"

Dean shook his head. “No, his wife, Jess, is just about ready to pop, she can’t fly, and I can’t afford it. Probably can’t do Christmas, either. Retail’s a bitch.”

“I’m sorry. Wish you could come to Thanksgiving. It’s a bullshit racist holiday, but it’s about the only time I see my family—well, the ones I speak to, Gabe and Daphne.”

“Wait, I know Gabe’s your brother. Who’s Daphne?”

Cas shifted his weght to one foot. “My ex-wife.”

Dean realized as he opened his mouth that he was going to say something very, very stupid.


End file.
